Chapter 5

She bled and wept, yet did not shrink; her strength Was strung up until daybreak of delight: She measured measureless sorrow toward its length, And breadth, and depth, and height.

Then marked I how a chain sustained her form, A chain of living links not made nor riven: It stretched sheer up through lighting, wind, and storm, And anchored fast in heaven. 140

One cried: 'How long? yet founded on the Rock She shall do battle, suffer, and attain.'-- One answered: 'Faith quakes in the tempest shock: Strengthen her soul again.'

I saw a cup sent down and come to her Brimfull of loathing and of bitterness: She drank with livid lips that seemed to stir The depth, not make it less.

But as she drank I spied a hand distil New wine and virgin honey; making it 150 First bitter-sweet, then sweet indeed, until She tasted only sweet.

Her lips and cheeks waxed rosy-fresh and young; Drinking she sang: 'My soul shall nothing want;' And drank anew: while soft a song was sung, A mystical slow chant.

One cried: 'The wounds are faithful of a friend: The wilderness shall blossom as a rose.'-- One answered: 'Rend the veil, declare the end, Strengthen her ere she goes.' 160

Then earth and heaven were rolled up like a scroll; Time and space, change and death, had passed away; Weight, number, measure, each had reached its whole; The day had come, that day.

Multitudes--multitudes--stood up in bliss, Made equal to the angels, glorious, fair; With harps, palms, wedding-garments, kiss of peace And crowned and haloed hair.

They sang a song, a new song in the height, Harping with harps to Him Who is Strong and True: 170 They drank new wine, their eyes saw with new light, Lo, all things were made new.

Tier beyond tier they rose and rose and rose So high that it was dreadful, flames with flames: No man could number them, no tongue disclose Their secret sacred names.

As though one pulse stirred all, one rush of blood Fed all, one breath swept through them myriad-voiced, They struck their harps, cast down their crowns, they stood And worshipped and rejoiced. 180

Each face looked one way like a moon new-lit, Each face looked one way towards its Sun of Love; Drank love and bathed in love and mirrored it And knew no end thereof.

Glory touched glory on each blessèd head, Hands locked dear hands never to sunder more: These were the new-begotten from the dead Whom the great birthday bore.

Heart answered heart, soul answered soul at rest, Double against each other, filled, sufficed: 190 All loving, loved of all; but loving best And best beloved of Christ.

I saw that one who lost her love in pain, Who trod on thorns, who drank the loathsome cup; The lost in night, in day was found again; The fallen was lifted up.

They stood together in the blessèd noon, They sang together through the length of days; Each loving face bent Sunwards like a moon New-lit with love and praise. 200

Therefore, O friend, I would not if I might Rebuild my house of lies, wherein I joyed One time to dwell: my soul shall walk in white, Cast down but not destroyed.

Therefore in patience I possess my soul; Yea, therefore as a flint I set my face, To pluck down, to build up again the whole-- But in a distant place.

These thorns are sharp, yet I can tread on them; This cup is loathsome, yet He makes it sweet: 210 My face is steadfast toward Jerusalem, My heart remembers it.

I lift the hanging hands, the feeble knees-- I, precious more than seven times molten gold-- Until the day when from his storehouses God shall bring new and old;

Beauty for ashes, oil of joy for grief, Garment of praise for spirit of heaviness: Although to-day I fade as doth a leaf, I languish and grow less. 220

Although to-day He prunes my twigs with pain, Yet doth His blood nourish and warm my root: To-morrow I shall put forth buds again And clothe myself with fruit.

Although to-day I walk in tedious ways, To-day His staff is turned into a rod, Yet will I wait for Him the appointed days And stay upon my God.

OLD AND NEW YEAR DITTIES

1

New Year met me somewhat sad: Old Year leaves me tired, Stripped of favourite things I had Baulked of much desired: Yet farther on my road to-day God willing, farther on my way.

New Year coming on apace What have you to give me? Bring you scathe, or bring you grace, Face me with an honest face; 10 You shall not deceive me: Be it good or ill, be it what you will, It needs shall help me on my road, My rugged way to heaven, please God.

2

Watch with me, men, women, and children dear, You whom I love, for whom I hope and fear, Watch with me this last vigil of the year. Some hug their business, some their pleasure-scheme; Some seize the vacant hour to sleep or dream; Heart locked in heart some kneel and watch apart.

Watch with me blessèd spirits, who delight All through the holy night to walk in white, Or take your ease after the long-drawn fight. I know not if they watch with me: I know 10 They count this eve of resurrection slow, And cry, 'How long?' with urgent utterance strong.

Watch with me Jesus, in my loneliness: Though others say me nay, yet say Thou yes; Though others pass me by, stop Thou to bless. Yea, Thou dost stop with me this vigil night; To-night of pain, to-morrow of delight: I, Love, am Thine; Thou, Lord my God, art mine.

3

Passing away, saith the World, passing away: Chances, beauty and youth sapped day by day: Thy life never continueth in one stay. Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark hair changing to grey That hath won neither laurel nor bay? I shall clothe myself in Spring and bud in May: Thou, root-stricken, shalt not rebuild thy decay On my bosom for aye. Then I answered: Yea.

Passing away, saith my Soul, passing away: 10 With its burden of fear and hope, of labour and play; Hearken what the past doth witness and say: Rust in thy gold, a moth is in thine array, A canker is in thy bud, thy leaf must decay. At midnight, at cockcrow, at morning, one certain day Lo, the Bridegroom shall come and shall not delay: Watch thou and pray. Then I answered: Yea.

Passing away, saith my God, passing away: Winter passeth after the long delay: 20 New grapes on the vine, new figs on the tender spray, Turtle calleth turtle in Heaven's May. Though I tarry wait for Me, trust Me, watch and pray: Arise, come away, night is past and lo it is day, My love, My sister, My spouse, thou shalt hear Me say. Then I answered: Yea.

AMEN

It is over. What is over? Nay, now much is over truly!-- Harvest days we toiled to sow for; Now the sheaves are gathered newly, Now the wheat is garnered duly.

It is finished. What is finished? Much is finished known or unknown: Lives are finished; time diminished; Was the fallow field left unsown? Will these buds be always unblown? 10

It suffices. What suffices? All suffices reckoned rightly: Spring shall bloom where now the ice is, Roses make the bramble sightly, And the quickening sun shine brightly, And the latter wind blow lightly, And my garden teem with spices.

THE PRINCE'S PROGRESS, AND OTHER POEMS, 1866

THE PRINCE'S PROGRESS

Till all sweet gums and juices flow, Till the blossom of blossoms blow, The long hours go and come and go, The bride she sleepeth, waketh, sleepeth, Waiting for one whose coming is slow:-- Hark! the bride weepeth.

'How long shall I wait, come heat come rime?'-- 'Till the strong Prince comes, who must come in time' (Her women say), 'there's a mountain to climb, A river to ford. Sleep, dream and sleep; 10 Sleep' (they say): 'we've muffled the chime, Better dream than weep.'

In his world-end palace the strong Prince sat, Taking his ease on cushion and mat, Close at hand lay his staff and his hat. 'When wilt thou start? the bride waits, O youth.'-- 'Now the moon's at full; I tarried for that, Now I start in truth.

'But tell me first, true voice of my doom, Of my veiled bride in her maiden bloom; 20 Keeps she watch through glare and through gloom, Watch for me asleep and awake?'-- 'Spell-bound she watches in one white room, And is patient for thy sake.

'By her head lilies and rosebuds grow; The lilies droop, will the rosebuds blow? The silver slim lilies hang the head low; Their stream is scanty, their sunshine rare: Let the sun blaze out, and let the stream flow, They will blossom and wax fair. 30

'Red and white poppies grow at her feet, The blood-red wait for sweet summer heat, Wrapped in bud-coats hairy and neat; But the white buds swell, one day they will burst, Will open their death-cups drowsy and sweet-- Which will open the first?'

Then a hundred sad voices lifted a wail, And a hundred glad voices piped on the gale: 'Time is short, life is short,' they took up the tale: 'Life is sweet, love is sweet, use to-day while you may; 40 Love is sweet, and to-morrow may fail; Love is sweet, use to-day.'

While the song swept by, beseeching and meek, Up rose the Prince with a flush on his cheek, Up he rose to stir and to seek, Going forth in the joy of his strength; Strong of limb if of purpose weak, Starting at length.

Forth he set in the breezy morn, Crossing green fields of nodding corn, 50 As goodly a Prince as ever was born; Carolling with the carolling lark;-- Sure his bride will be won and worn, Ere fall of the dark.

So light his step, so merry his smile, A milkmaid loitered beside a stile, Set down her pail and rested awhile, A wave-haired milkmaid, rosy and white; The Prince, who had journeyed at least a mile, Grew athirst at the sight. 60

'Will you give me a morning draught?'-- 'You're kindly welcome,' she said, and laughed. He lifted the pail, new milk he quaffed; Then wiping his curly black beard like silk: 'Whitest cow that ever was calved Surely gave you this milk.'

Was it milk now, or was it cream? Was she a maid, or an evil dream? Here eyes began to glitter and gleam; He would have gone, but he stayed instead; 70 Green they gleamed as he looked in them: 'Give me my fee,' she said.--

'I will give you a jewel of gold.'-- 'Not so; gold is heavy and cold.'-- 'I will give you a velvet fold Of foreign work your beauty to deck.'-- 'Better I like my kerchief rolled Light and white round my neck.'--

'Nay,' cried he, 'but fix your own fee.'-- She laughed, 'You may give the full moon to me; 80 Or else sit under this apple-tree Here for one idle day by my side; After that I'll let you go free, And the world is wide.'

Loth to stay, but to leave her slack, He half turned away, then he quite turned back: For courtesy's sake he could not lack To redeem his own royal pledge; Ahead too the windy heaven lowered black With a fire-cloven edge. 90

So he stretched his length in the apple-tree shade, Lay and laughed and talked to the maid, Who twisted her hair in a cunning braid And writhed it shining in serpent-coils, And held him a day and night fast laid In her subtle toils.

At the death of night and the birth of day, When the owl left off his sober play, And the bat hung himself out of the way, Woke the song of mavis and merle, 100 And heaven put off its hodden grey For mother-o'-pearl.

Peeped up daisies here and there, Here, there, and everywhere; Rose a hopeful lark in the air, Spreading out towards the sun his breast; While the moon set solemn and fair Away in the West.

'Up, up, up,' called the watchman lark, In his clear réveillée: 'Hearken, oh hark! 110 Press to the high goal, fly to the mark. Up, O sluggard, new morn is born; If still asleep when the night falls dark, Thou must wait a second morn.'

'Up, up, up,' sad glad voices swelled: 'So the tree falls and lies as it's felled. Be thy bands loosed, O sleeper, long held In sweet sleep whose end is not sweet. Be the slackness girt and the softness quelled And the slowness fleet.' 120

Off he set. The grass grew rare, A blight lurked in the darkening air, The very moss grew hueless and spare, The last daisy stood all astunt; Behind his back the soil lay bare, But barer in front.

A land of chasm and rent, a land Of rugged blackness on either hand: If water trickled its track was tanned With an edge of rust to the chink; 130 If one stamped on stone or on sand It returned a clink.

A lifeless land, a loveless land, Without lair or nest on either hand: Only scorpions jerked in the sand, Black as black iron, or dusty pale; From point to point sheer rock was manned By scorpions in mail.

A land of neither life nor death, Where no man buildeth or fashioneth, 140 Where none draws living or dying breath; No man cometh or goeth there, No man doeth, seeketh, saith, In the stagnant air.

Some old volcanic upset must Have rent the crust and blackened the crust; Wrenched and ribbed it beneath its dust Above earth's molten centre at seethe, Heaved and heaped it by huge upthrust Of fire beneath. 150

Untrodden before, untrodden since: Tedious land for a social Prince; Halting, he scanned the outs and ins, Endless, labyrinthine, grim, Of the solitude that made him wince, Laying wait for him.

By bulging rock and gaping cleft, Even of half mere daylight reft, Rueful he peered to right and left, Muttering in his altered mood: 160 'The fate is hard that weaves my weft, Though my lot be good.'

Dim the changes of day to night, Of night scarce dark to day not bright. Still his road wound towards the right, Still he went, and still he went, Till one night he espied a light, In his discontent.

Out it flashed from a yawn-mouthed cave, Like a red-hot eye from a grave. 170 No man stood there of whom to crave Rest for wayfarer plodding by: Though the tenant were churl or knave The Prince might try.

In he passed and tarried not, Groping his way from spot to spot, Towards where the cavern flare glowed hot:-- An old, old mortal, cramped and double, Was peering into a seething-pot, In a world of trouble. 180

The veriest atomy he looked, With grimy fingers clutching and crooked, Tight skin, a nose all bony and hooked, And a shaking, sharp, suspicious way; His blinking eyes had scarcely brooked The light of day.

Stared the Prince, for the sight was new; Stared, but asked without more ado: 'My a weary traveller lodge with you, Old father, here in your lair? 190 In your country the inns seem few, And scanty the fare.'

The head turned not to hear him speak; The old voice whistled as through a leak (Out it came in a quavering squeak): 'Work for wage is a bargain fit: If there's aught of mine that you seek You must work for it.

'Buried alive from light and air This year is the hundredth year, 200 I feed my fire with a sleepless care, Watching my potion wane or wax: Elixir of Life is simmering there, And but one thing lacks.

'If you're fain to lodge here with me, Take that pair of bellows you see-- Too heavy for my old hands they be-- Take the bellows and puff and puff: When the steam curls rosy and free The broth's boiled enough. 210

'Then take your choice of all I have; I will give you life if you crave. Already I'm mildewed for the grave, So first myself I must drink my fill: But all the rest may be yours, to save Whomever you will.'

'Done,' quoth the Prince, and the bargain stood, First he piled on resinous wood, Next plied the bellows in hopeful mood; Thinking, 'My love and I will live. 220 If I tarry, why life is good, And she may forgive.'

The pot began to bubble and boil; The old man cast in essence and oil, He stirred all up with a triple coil Of gold and silver and iron wire, Dredged in a pinch of virgin soil, And fed the fire.

But still the steam curled watery white; Night turned to day and day to night; 230 One thing lacked, by his feeble sight Unseen, unguessed by his feeble mind: Life might miss him, but Death the blight Was sure to find.

So when the hundredth year was full The thread was cut and finished the school. Death snapped the old worn-out tool, Snapped him short while he stood and stirred (Though stiff he stood as a stiff-necked mule) With never a word. 240

Thus at length the old crab was nipped. The dead hand slipped, the dead finger dipped In the broth as the dead man slipped,-- That same instant, a rosy red Flushed the steam, and quivered and clipped Round the dead old head.

The last ingredient was supplied (Unless the dead man mistook or lied). Up started the Prince, he cast aside The bellows plied through the tedious trial, 250 Made sure that his host had died, And filled a phial.

'One night's rest,' though the Prince: 'This done, Forth I start with the rising sun: With the morrow I rise and run, Come what will of wind or of weather. This draught of Life when my Bride is won We'll drink together.'

Thus the dead man stayed in his grave, Self-chosen, the dead man in his cave; 260 There he stayed, were he fool or knave, Or honest seeker who had not found: While the Prince outside was prompt to crave Sleep on the ground.

'If she watches, go bid her sleep; Bit her sleep, for the road is steep: He can sleep who holdeth her cheap, Sleep and wake and sleep again. Let him sow, one day he shall reap, Let him sow the grain. 270

'When there blows a sweet garden rose, Let it bloom and wither if no man knows: But if one knows when the sweet thing blows, Knows, and lets it open and drop, If but a nettle his garden grows He hath earned the crop.'

Through his sleep the summons rang, Into his ears it sobbed and it sang. Slow he woke with a drowsy pang, Shook himself without much debate, 280 Turned where he saw green branches hang, Started though late.

For the black land was travelled o'er, He should see the grim land no more. A flowering country stretched before His face when the lovely day came back: He hugged the phial of Life he bore, And resumed his track.

By willow courses he took his path, Spied what a nest the kingfisher hath, 290 Marked the fields green to aftermath, Marked where the red-brown field-mouse ran, Loitered a while for a deep-stream bath, Yawned for a fellow-man.

Up on the hills not a soul in view, In a vale not many nor few; Leaves, still leaves, and nothing new. It's oh for a second maiden, at least, To bear the flagon, and taste it too, And flavour the feast. 300

Lagging he moved, and apt to swerve; Lazy of limb, but quick of nerve. At length the water-bed took a curve, The deep river swept its bankside bare; Waters streamed from the hill-reserve-- Waters here, waters there.

High above, and deep below, Bursting, bubbling, swelling the flow, Like hill torrents after the snow,-- Bubbling, gurgling, in whirling strife, 310 Swaying, sweeping, to and fro,-- He must swim for his life.

Which way?--which way?--his eyes grew dim With the dizzying whirl--which way to swim? The thunderous downshoot deafened him; Half he choked in the lashing spray: Life is sweet, and the grave is grim-- Which way?--which way?

A flash of light, a shout from the strand: 'This way--this way; here lies the land!' 320 His phial clutched in one drowning hand; He catches--misses--catches a rope; His feet slip on the slipping sand: Is there life?--is there hope?

Just saved, without pulse or breath,-- Scarcely saved from the gulp of death; Laid where a willow shadoweth-- Laid where a swelling turf is smooth. (O Bride! but the Bridegroom lingereth For all thy sweet youth.) 330

Kind hands do and undo, Kind voices whisper and coo: 'I will chafe his hands'--'And I'--'And you Raise his head, put his hair aside.' (If many laugh, one well may rue: Sleep on, thou Bride.)

So the Prince was tended with care: One wrung foul ooze from his clustered hair; Two chafed his hands, and did not spare; But one held his drooping head breast-high, 340 Till his eyes oped, and at unaware They met eye to eye.

Oh, a moon face in a shadowy place, And a light touch and a winsome grace, And a thrilling tender voice that says: 'Safe from waters that seek the sea-- Cold waters by rugged ways-- Safe with me.'

While overhead bird whistles to bird, And round about plays a gamesome herd: 350 'Safe with us'--some take up the word-- 'Safe with us, dear lord and friend: All the sweeter if long deferred Is rest in the end.'

Had he stayed to weigh and to scan, He had been more or less than a man: He did what a young man can, Spoke of toil and an arduous way-- Toil to-morrow, while golden ran The sands of to-day. 360

Slip past, slip fast, Uncounted hours from first to last, Many hours till the last is past, Many hours dwindling to one-- One hour whose die is cast, One last hour gone.

Come, gone--gone for ever-- Gone as an unreturning river-- Gone as to death the merriest liver-- Gone as the year at the dying fall-- 370 To-morrow, to-day, yesterday, never-- Gone once for all.

Came at length the starting-day, With last words, and last words to say, With bodiless cries from far away-- Chiding wailing voices that rang Like a trumpet-call to the tug and fray; And thus they sang:

'Is there life?--the lamp burns low; Is there hope?--the coming is slow: 380 The promise promised so long ago, The long promise, has not been kept. Does she live?--does she die?--she slumbers so Who so oft has wept.

'Does she live?--does she die?--she languisheth As a lily drooping to death, As a drought-worn bird with failing breath, As a lovely vine without a stay, As a tree whereof the owner saith, "Hew it down to-day."' 390

Stung by that word the Prince was fain To start on his tedious road again. He crossed the stream where a ford was plain, He clomb the opposite bank though steep, And swore to himself to strain and attain Ere he tasted sleep.

Huge before him a mountain frowned With foot of rock on the valley ground, And head with snows incessant crowned, And a cloud mantle about its strength, 400 And a path which the wild goat hath not found In its breadth and length.

But he was strong to do and dare: If a host had withstood him there, He had braved a host with little care In his lusty youth and his pride, Tough to grapple though weak to snare. He comes, O Bride.